Still here. Not much to write about. What [Patient Caller] said would happen if I allowed him to assist me, is happening. Because the end is in sight, I suddenly have a lot more patience with familial bullshit. The apparent passivity is being misperceived as mute acceptance of my lot in life.
Last week, I was informed that a client at work had suddenly passed. Two days ago, she was suddenly in the office hallway behind me. She put her hand on my shoulder, and said “Gotcha!” before snort-laughing. I turned around in time to see her image fading into the beam of sunlight. Her smile was the last thing to go. “Had to say ‘Goodbye’ to ya. Not many people in this office are worth coming back for. But you’re one a’them. Thanks for the help, kid. Sorry it’s like this, but… eh. What can you do?”
I had to keep a straight face as (1) I was on camera and (2) there were three other people in the hall who suddenly got cold and shivered. From shoulder tap to resigned acceptance was less than a second. The words weren’t so much spoken as just suddenly there in my head. The other three people glanced at each other before looking at my stoic face. For some reason, they were annoyed at my indifference.
To be honest, I was actually pissed at myself that after all I have been through, I was just frightened by a ghost. Wasn’t the first post-death visitation by a client at work. I doubt it will be the last.
I want the move to be over. There are still loose ends that need to be settled, and there are waypoints that I still have no idea how I am going to reach. I want to stop feeling Damocles’ Sword hanging over my head being held back only by the last remaining thread of worn down hope.
I expect to cry every night in the new place for at least a week. Not from relief that I am no longer living in a cage, but that it took so long for me to be able to escape it.
But until I cry that river, I am still walking in the desert.